Melancholy Untamed
by DarkWarrior4
Summary: Boromir has survived the War of the Ring and is living in Minas Tirith as Aragorn's lover, unkown the the rest of the commonfolk. Seeing neither is happy, Boromir finally does something for himself, and joins Legolas in Mirkwood. Will be LegolasBoromir.


            Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings or its assorted characters and settings. 

            Author's note- I have once again revised and this is no longer 'Sweet Temptation'. Thank you VERY much to all my reviewers of Sweet Temptation and I'm really sorry I haven't updated in a while. I had writer's block, ***sigh* **I know it's no longer Aragorn/Boromir but I hope you continue you reading. I didn't like where it was going, so I revised once again. Oh, by the way Almare means bliss, blessedness, etc. in elvish.

Sorrow

Aragorn smiled as he watched the many colors of the sunrise flare across the sky from where he stood on the top of the Tower of Ecthelion. He leaned back against a warm chest as strong arms encircled him from behind.

"What are you doing out of bed this early, my liege?" questioned Boromir softly.

"I was watching the sunrise, and…. thinking," replied Aragorn.

Boromir smiled sadly into Aragorn's hair and tightened his grip as he said, "Ah, more brooding?"

Aragorn didn't answer and instead turned around in Boromir's embrace and slowly lifted his eyes to meet the other man's. In Aragorn's eyes Boromir saw only quiet affection shining through, undiluted by a doubt or resentment that Boromir had begun to fear would surface amongst the once ranger's thoughts. He worried that Aragorn would begin to resent choosing him over the ravishing elven wench, or maybe even the Rohirric woman Eowyn, who was as of yet still unwed. Both of who could provide him with heirs and stable public approval, something Boromir could not, for obvious reasons. 

Boromir mentally shook his head at the self-doubt that had almost gotten him killed in Amon Hen, whilst he was defending the two halflings. There was no reason to do such a disservice to both of them. Aragorn was a big boy, fully capable of making his own decisions. If he hadn't wanted Boromir he wouldn't have risked death, unease, and physical, mental, and political turmoil to be with **him**.

With that last thought, Boromir scooped Aragorn into his arms and leaned down to bring the king into a brief, heart-stoppingly passionate kiss. He then proceeded to carry an all too willing, Aragorn down the steps and into the now brightly sunlit streets of Minas Tirith. 

Aragorn smiled brightly at Boromir as he whispered secretively in his captor's ear, "I don't think our people will like the site of their king being carried off like a sack of potatoes.

"I doubt they will like our relationship if they ever found out, either," whispered a traitorous voice in the back of Boromir's head.

Aragorn grew uneasy as his normally highly verbal lover fell silent, an uneasy silence, of deep thoughts. He gently extricated himself from the circle of Boromir's arms, and grabbed the other's work-hardened hand in his own, placing a gentle kiss in the middle of its palm. With one last rough squeeze, Aragorn strode down the street and back to his duties, and the abominably hot throne room.

*****

It was hard to keep this mask up, to act as if they were naught but sovereign and vassal, thought Boromir. In many ways this was of his own doing, for he only wanted what was best for his people, even at his own expense. This… lying by omission was not something Boromir would naturally choose to do, this hiding feeling too much like cowardice. 

          Aragorn only wanted what was best for all too, and felt like he was being torn in a thousand different directions, and Boromir knew he was one of the largest distractions. It filled him with grief unimaginable, the thought of those most precious to him suffering for his selfishness.

Much time passed, spring green leaves turned to fall gold, and still the despair deep within Boromir's soul abated not a bit, if anything it only grew worse. The external world was growing chaotic and terrible once more as well. Frequent orc raids on outlying farms in both Gondor and the Riddermark left many dead, and more wounded. They were growing stronger, smarter, more evolved, especially with their new leader, Wulkbane. As days passed, the grief became more and more apparent in the pair's actions. As expected, things finally came to a head. 

Boromir turned abruptly away as Aragorn attempted to kiss him, forestalling the questioning with a quick motion for Aragorn to sit. He might've once been in love, but he was still, well… Boromir.  He anxiously began pacing, and slowly began to unleash the tempest within.      

"Aragorn, I can't do this anymore," stated Boromir bluntly. "This is just too much for me to take anymore. We're not happy. Don't interrupt; you know we're not. You need to take a wife and bear heirs, and I need… I need to be free."

"Boromir, I don't know what to say," whispered Aragorn. "This… we… I, I thought you loved me and now you so bluntly throw it all away!"

"I do love you, but no longer as a lover, besides you know as well as I do that our love was chance of fate," answered Boromir. "You need someone without wanderlust and broken memories. And I need to be free. I need to… I need to… escape. Escape and truly be free. For once I'm going to do something completely selfish, completely my own. Tell the people whatever you will, I'll be gone by nightfall."

With a weary sigh, Boromir left a numb and speechless Aragorn, heading quietly for his quarters. Almost everything was packed, but a few special possessions, which were tucked gently into his tunic as he changed into traveling garb. 

A cold draft passed through an open window, and gray clouds filled the vibrant sky, turning it a dull charcoal. 

No matter to Boromir, who hurried as a man hunted. Quickly his chestnut gelding, Almare was saddled and readied, light saddlebags nothing to the proud horse. His Rohirric shield was settled over his shoulder, his sword resting gently against his hip, a strange source of comfort to the proud Man. 

He speedily made a mental list of what he needed for his journey, and found everything in place. He'd packed the bare essentials, contacted Legolas who was currently in Mirkwood, and left a note to Faramir that read: I have gone to seek peace. I shan't think I'll return. Do not worry little brother; I'll be fine. Do NOT look for me under any circumstances.

Cool wind blew through the stable, awaking Boromir from reverie. It 'twas long past time to be gone. 


End file.
